Chosen
by Ghosthaze
Summary: Who put Scully and Mulder together and why?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I don't own the characters, I just like to play with other people's toys. :)

 **Chosen**

Washington D.C.

1992

The large faux oak conference table was almost too big for the tiny windowless room it was situated in. There was just enough room left for the chairs lining it's sides, and the suited men occupying those chairs, if no one moved much. This particular little cubbyhole was packed tight, which made the smoke emanating from his cigarette seem heavier than it was. It trailed upward in grey wisps that separated as they rose only to reunite against the low ceiling forming an ever growing cloud of chemicals. Sweet nicotine laced chemicals. He leaned his head back and stared longingly at the haze above him. Somewhere in the room one of his colleagues was droning on about the more trivial aspects of their job, personnel files or expense reports or some such nonsense that he never bothered with. It was tedious, that's why he left it to the underlings. He sucked in another long drag and exhaled it slowly, watching the thin grey tendrils as they undulated upward toward their kin.

"Sir?", The distant voice now suddenly sharp and loud, pulled him from his reverie. He lowered his head slowly and leveled his gaze at the fresh faced man in the hideous brown suit. The younger man stared at him expectantly, obviously having posed him some query. Truth be told, he had no idea what the question was but he gave no indication, he simply affected a stoic and some what knowing look and waited. Within seconds the younger man began to fidget, eyes flickering around the table seeking backup or at least a little reassurance. " I only meant that…that maybe we should…" The younger man stammered nervously broken beneath the weight of his piercing stare. A trace of a smile began tugging at the corners of his mouth, succeeding more so on one side than it did the other. He had grown to enjoy the uneasiness he elicited from the people around him.

"He's saying that Mulder is beginning to become a problem, one that should be dealt with before it gets out of hand."

His burgeoning smile faded as he turned to face the all too familiar voice seated directly opposite him. He studied the dark inset eyes peering at him from beneath that deeply wrinkled brow. The man across from him was a professional liar, the professional liar, but the comment spilling from that heavy jowled, thin lipped poker face was all truth, and it bothered him. He said nothing for a few long moments, taking one last long draw from his cigarette, then leisurely crushing it out in the half full ash tray before him.

"Don't think of Mulder as a problem, think of him as tool.", He said pointedly, not breaking eye contact with the liar. "A problem needs to be solved, a tool simply needs to be used."

"You gave us this same speech when you allowed him to open the x-files." the liar's voice was cool as he leaned forward to rest his forearms against the table. "And I have yet to see you put him to good use."

"Would you use a wrecking ball to drive in a nail?" He let a fraction of his agitation seep into his voice for effect, "Mulder is a tool with a specific purpose, and hopefully that purpose is still years away."

The liar's head inclined giving only the slightest of nods, "If you want to keep Mulder on reserve that's fine, but he has to be kept under control until we can use him."

He pulled a pack of Morley's from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. It was more of an instinctual move than the actual desire to smoke another, but once his fingertips contacted cardboard he saw no reason to stop. He flipped the box open drew out the last remaining cigarette and slid it between his lips, never taking his eyes off the drooping face in front of him. The man was right. Mulder had to be brought to heel, and everyone knew it. No argument on the subject would benefit him now. His only response was to light up his last smoke and adjourn this fiasco of a meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

He remained in the tiny room for a short while, after the others were gone. Leaning back in his chair he smoked his last cigarette as though it was the last bit of this world he would ever experience. His mind drifted back to a dreary spring day in Quonochontaug, to a promise he had made, one he was never sure he could keep.

"Promise me." Teena's crystalline blue eyes pleaded with him in such a profound manner that it made the otherwise heart-wrenching break in her voice sound grossly underwhelming. "Promise me, You'll keep him safe. He's all I have left."

"You know that's an impossible promise to make." He immediately wished he had said it with more compassion, but he was dumbfounded by her request, and it caused his simple truth to sound more like outright dismissal. The look on her face crushed him.

"He's a man now, Teena, his choices, and their consequences are his alone to bear."

"You sound just like Bill." her tone was flat, cold, and accusing. The words themselves were sharpened steel meant to pierce his calm armor. They served their purpose.

"Then maybe you should listen to Bill." He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and drew one out, holding it un-lit between his thumb and fore finger. "He is the boy's father after all." He raised the cigarette to his lips, surprised by the venom in his own voice, but unwilling to acknowledge it's accidental nature. He lit his smoke without taking his eyes off her face. He wanted to see the devastation register as the full brunt of his words hit her. She gave him only a moments satisfaction. Within seconds her face morphed through the emotions of anger, then pain, then guilt, then she recomposed herself. Her eyes narrowed at him, blazing with an azure rage that some part of him couldn't help feeling attracted to.

"You're a sorry son of a bitch" she spat.

His only response was an extra slow drag of hot, grey death, which he then exhaled equally as slowly into the space between them. They stood silently draped in the dissipating haze. She was staring him down, waiting for him to break. It amazed him how, even now, years after their physical relationship had ended, she still managed to affect him in ways no one else could. To a man of his power, the petulant set to her lips and the ice in her stare should have been the laughable ploy of a desperate woman. To a man of his power, this entire conversation should be, at best, an inconvenient courtesy. She knew as well as he did, that this was not the case. She had a power over him, a way of reigning him in and getting what she wanted from him. He had loved her once, perhaps he still did on some level, and that always gave her the upper hand. He dropped his head as he took another puff.

"He's asking questions that very powerful men don't want anyone to ask." He spoke softly letting all the smoke clear his lungs before raising his eyes back to hers. Her face had softened considerably by the time he centered it back into his field of vision. Thankfully he had managed to miss the smirk of triumph he knew flitted across her lips the moment he broke the silence. Now all he saw was the slow swell of thankfulness creeping its way across her features. She knew she had won. Maybe it should make him angry that she knew she was victorious before he had conceded to defeat, but what good would it possibly do him.

"You're a powerful man." her voice was as soft as her eyes, now. There was no anger or condescension in her tone, just a gentle prodding insistence that he could accomplish the impossible.

"Not powerful enough." he admitted with more reluctance than resolve. He flicked the ashes from his dwindling cigarette and drew one last long hit. She watched him knowingly as he flung the still smoldering butt into the wet spring grass. "I'll keep him safe, for as long as I can."

"Thank you." was her only reply, as she turned and walked away.

The weight of that promise would haunt him till his dying day. Still, the boy was his son and he owed him at least this one fatherly act. The problem was finding a way to keep an eye on him without having to actually keep his eyes on him. He had tried partnering him with the Fowley woman. That was regrettable. Mulder had grown intensely affectionate toward her, and she had grown a conscience, resulting in her transfer overseas. Perhaps he had the right idea, but had simply gone about it the wrong way. Diana Fowley knew she was a plant. She knew, she was not only to gain Mulder's trust but to capture his attention as well. He was supposed to fall in love with her, and she knew it. A man in love is easily maneuvered when the woman he loves can be used as leverage. Perhaps the problem was letting her know she was being used.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The stacks of dossiers and personnel folders before him, stood tall and ragged on the conference room table. He had intended to do this in his office, but there was not enough space on his desk for all the buxom brunettes and bottled blonde's hidden in these massive paper piles. He sat with his coat hanging on the back of his chair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and lit cigarette dangling precariously from his bottom lip. There was no mirror in the room, but he was certain his current appearance rivaled that of any caricaturized reporter from some classic comic book or cartoon. He stared down at the blonde beauty contained in the open file in front of him. She was stunning. A former life guard, she was currently assigned to Quantico as a physical training and first aid instructor. She had a bachelor's degree in criminal justice from the University of Florida. She was beautiful, but no where near Mulder's intelligence level. She would never work out. He needed a woman who could keep up with Mulder mentally, not some one and done brainless bimbo he would have to replace in a year. He closed the folder and pushed it away from him with an air of utter disgust. Leaning back, he pulled a drag from his half burned cigarette, then removed it from his lips, for what felt like the first time that day. His search was not going well.

"Still playing Matchmaker, I see." The Liar stood in the doorway, his voice rank with condescension.

" We need some leverage where Mulder is concerned." his voice remained surprisingly flat, as he drew the next folder from the pile.

"His mother's still alive."

The statement from the doorway stopped the smoker dead, but only for a second. "We'll need more leverage that, for what is to come."

"So, you're in here combing through files trying to find what?" The jowly man moved as he spoke seating himself next to the smoker. "The love of his life?"

" Don't under estimate the power a woman can have over a man." the smoker turned to face his colleague.

"When it's the right woman." the liar corrected, "What make's you think you're gonna find her in here?" he nodded toward the sloppy stacks.

"Affection can be manufactured, given the right frame to hang it on." he replied a little too wistfully.

The liar laughed, fully and heartily as he rose and made his way back to the door. Just as he was leaving he turned back "You should pick a red head." he smirked at the smoker's dour but vaguely quizzical expression. "Every man wants a red head." and with that he was gone.

The smoker returned to his work. He opened the next folder to reveal bright read hair and piercing blue eyes. She was striking in her own way. He quickly glanced over her credentials. She was a medical doctor with an undergraduate degree in physics and a forensic pathology instructor at Quantico. A scientist. If she couldn't be used as leverage, she would at least be thorn in Mulder side, an over confident voice of reason to refute his outlandish claims. She was a win-win situation. He let his eyes flit up to her name, Dana Scully. Perfect.

 _A/N Thanks for reading :) Let me know what you think._


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